‘That’s amazing, Jess,’ Sam said, trying to read my deadpan expression. ‘Thank you.’
He looked at me again and I refused to meet his eye. They still thought I was trying to do them a favour, like my free time would have just been spent mooching around the city.
‘Wanted to use my time well,’ I muttered, insinuating that any time spent hanging around his apartment wouldn’t be, a little dig that I’m sure didn’t even scratch the surface.
‘Well, that’s great!’ Sam recovered after a long silence, his words characteristically a little too late, reaching his hand out to rest on mine. I looked down at it for a moment, hating it for being on mine after all his omissions but not knowing if I wanted it to move.
‘CreateSpace is a pretty big deal in your world, right?’ he added. My world. I guess it was, until I’d let my world become him. ‘And it’ll definitely help Tim out.’ I hoped to God it would help me out too. I needed to get some money and get out of Sam’s stupid flat. ‘He’s pretty useless without Carlo.’ And I’m pretty useless without you. ‘New jobs, new cities, man, I can’t keep up!’ Sam joked. That made two of us. ‘I guess we need some bubbles to celebrate?’ he continued, removing his hand from mine to return it to Jamie.
‘I think we do,’ I said flatly, resting bitch face now very much active. Jamie no sooner looked around the room before the waiter was on her like a rash, pouring champagne into three narrow flutes.
‘To new jobs.’ Sam raised his glass in the air.
‘To new friends,’ Jamie joined in, reaching her delicate fingers high. Friends.
‘To new engagements,’ I said, a smile on my face. I turned to look at Sam, whose own face was a picture: stunned and scared. He should have been the one to tell me and his expression told me he knew that too. He should have told me the second he’d seen me, the second he’d brought me back to his place. He’d had so many opportunities to tell me the truth. Yes, I had lied too, but never about him, never about us. Jamie took a sip and placed her glass down, as Sam did the same. I took a big fat gulp and placed my glass down with a thump that said: don’t pretend you don’t know why I’m pissed, Sam.
‘I’m just going to pop to the bathroom,’ Jamie said and rose to her feet to give both me and Sam another look at her toned thighs. ‘If the waiter comes’ – unlikely without her there – ‘I’ll have the usual.’
15 December 2012 – London, England
‘The usual?’ I muttered the question under my breath. Sam placed his strong hands to rest on my hips on and smiled. ‘At Soho House. He has a usual?’ I demanded as best I could through a whisper. He shrugged, hands still on my hips. The ‘meet the parents’ charade was nerve-racking at best, never mind when it turned out your boyfriend’s parents were stinking flipping rich. I looked around the gilded room, at the plush velvet sofas that lined it and the ornate picture frames hosting paintings I could barely even dream of owning, never mind painting. And this was just the corridor. ‘I mean, I guessed you didn’t grow up in squalor.’ I looked my boyfriend up and down again, his hair pushed back and his face closely shaved. He had told me his parents were both doctors, but had neglected to mention that his dad was an important oncology consultant who made regular visits to the city – so regular that Soho House considered him a close personal friend. Not to mention (and Sam certainly didn’t) that his mum was a visiting lecturer at University College London in her spare time – like doctors had all that much time to spare. ‘You could have told me to wear something nice,’ I went on. Sam’s firm grip never wavered. He held my gaze just as steady; I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh. ‘I wanted to make a good impression!’ Was I being dramatic? Maybe I was being dramatic.
‘Who cares if you impress them or not? You impress me, okay? If anything, they should be trying to impress you, soon-to-be award-winning artist.’ Sam tilted my chin up to kiss him, all annoyance melting at the mention of my favourite accolade: I still couldn’t believe that they had actually liked my portfolio. ‘And my mum’s already invited you to Christmas carols; that’s a pretty big deal in their world.’ He laughed.
‘Are we going?’ I wrinkled my nose, not sure I could stand singing carols next to Sam in church and still keep a straight face.
‘Hell, no!’ He laughed again, pulling me tighter still. ‘But they invited you, which means they like you. You’re in.’ Sam leaned in closer to whisper into my ear, as if I’d somehow made my way into their secret society. I hoped it included membership to Soho House. ‘We should go back to the table,’ Sam sighed, pulling away. ‘Or they’ll think we’re up to something.’ I took his hand as he guided me through the dimly lit restaurant, fairy lights illuminating hidden corners, with merry businesspeople filling every space, toasting the festive season. Weaving left and right through the restaurant’s many rooms, Sam stalled at a bauble-covered tree, his dad’s voice bellowing from our table behind it. ‘A fine art degree, what’s she going to do with that? My money was on Sam meeting another doctor…’
Sam gripped my hand tighter and tried to pull me forward, longing to stop the overheard conversation in its tracks. I halted, a cocktail of embarrassment, curiosity and stubbornness fixing me to the spot. Sam glanced at me, panicked, his own face fixed with confusion, like he had only just realised I wasn’t a doctor too.
‘She could do a lot of things, John.’ Sam’s mum spoke up from the other side of the tree. Its happy lights mocked me, no longer as jolly as they had first seemed. ‘Art therapy, art journalism… She’s clearly a very bright girl, she can do a lot more than just paint.’ Sam’s eyes were still glued on me, his hand willing me forward. I didn’t want to move, not sure if I should feel insulted or affirmed by Molly’s latest comment.
‘You’re right, Molly. You’re right,’ I heard John sigh as I imagined him placing a hand on Molly’s arm, in the same way Sam did when he surrendered to me. ‘And they’ve only been together for what, three months? It’s not like he’s in love with the girl.’
Sam squeezed my hand harder as we emerged, both his parents looking up, mouths zipped, smiles painted on; the moment was over, poise resumed. Sam slid into the booth first and I followed, forcing a smile onto my own face as I tried my best not to cry. I wanted them to like me. Sam loved them; I needed them to like me.
‘Food shouldn’t be long now, sweetheart.’ Molly placed a hand on Sam’s arm, which he quickly shrugged away. Molly stiffened in surprise, using the same hand to push her grey-blonde bob behind her ears and reveal a set of large emerald teardrops dangling there. ‘Great choice with the chicken, Jess. You’ll want two!’ I knew she was trying to be nice but now it felt like a comment on my assumed stomach capacity. I forced another smile, weak and worrisome.
‘I am,’ Sam blurted out. He looked from me to his mum and dad in turn, a quiver of anger tightening his lips.
‘You are what, darling?’ Molly asked in confusion.
‘We heard you, just then, saying I’m “not in love with the girl yet” but I am; I really am.’ Sam turned to me, the same look of apology on his face. I was too; I knew I was. I was just waiting for the right time, waiting for the right place – which I never thought would be across from John and Molly after they’d just made it clear that I wasn’t the girlfriend they’d hoped for their son.